“You are suggesting this woman may have joined my little flock?”
“That’s the general idea.”
“Absurd!” The monk’s gaze rested briefly on Penny as he added: “I greatly fear you have been led astray by loose gossip as to the nature of the order I am founding here.”
“I told Mr. Ayling about your work because I think it’s so interesting,” Penny said quickly. She slapped her mittened hands together. “My, it’s cold today! May we warm ourselves at your fire before we start back to town?”
A frown puckered Father Benedict’s eyebrows. Plainly the request displeased him. But with a show of hospitality, he said:
“Our abode is very humble and poorly furnished. Such as it is, you are welcome.” Bowing slightly, he stepped aside to admit the visitors.
Penny and Mr. Ayling found themselves in a long, barren, and very cold hallway.
“Follow me, please,” bade the monk.
Moving on the bare boards with noiseless tread, he led them through an arched doorway cut in the thick wall, across a wind-swept pillared cloister and into a parlor where a fire burned brightly in a huge, time-blackened fireplace.
The sheer comfort of the room surprised Penny. Underfoot was a thick velvet carpet. Other furnishings included a large mahogany desk, a sofa, two easy chairs, and a cabinet filled with fine glassware, gold and silver objects, and a blue glass decanter of wine.